The Doctor is In
by CPegasus
Summary: When Robin goes missing, and Joker is involved, Batman expects an insane plot. But when the insane plot is to cure his own insanity? One Dr. Quinn might find much more than she wanted in her patient
1. Doctor's Orders

Batman stood alone at the top of one of Gotham's many skyscrapers. The night was quiet. He could actually hear the distant chirping of crickets a long way below him, the soft rush of cars down the city streets. Sounds that were normally blocked out by cries for help. But tonight, Gotham slept.

And Batman knew that it would not last.

"Robin, come in. Where are you?" He asked into his mic. No answer. Batman would not panic. There could be a simple explanation. Robin's communicator could have been damaged. He might just be busy, unable to respond. Or it could be something far worse.

Batman changed the channel to Wayne Manor. "Alfred, are you there?"

"Of course, sir, I have absolutely nothing better to do on such a fine night than to wait for your call in this dingy little room you call a headquarters," came the reply.

"Glad to hear it," Batman said, holding back a small smirk at Alfred's typical British wit. "I want you to keep an eye out for Robin, I can't get in touch with him. It's possible his equipment is malfunctioning. I'm going to look for him. If he comes back to the Cave, tell him to wait there and contact me immediately." He paused, looking over the city, trying to decide where to begin his search. "It's too quiet out here, old friend. There's something up."

"Yes, God forbid there be a lull in Gotham's infamous crime rate. Give Master Timothy some credit, he has had your training. He can take fine care of himself."

Batman said nothing for a moment. There was a nagging feeling in his gut, something about the calm, summery night felt ominously chilling. "I don't want to take any chances."

0-0-0-0

Batman was starting to think that his worries were justified. The search had been on for over an hour, and there was still no sign of Robin.

But suddenly, the communicator crackled to life. "Batman? Can you hear me?"

"Robin, where are you?" Batman asked quickly. But it wasn't Robin who answered.

"Oho, so THAT'S what this little gadget is for," came an all-too-familiar voice through the tiny speaker. "Hello Batsy, long time no see!"

"What do you want, Joker?" Batman growled, clenching his fists.

But the Joker's voice was more distant, as if he had turned away from the communicator. Batman could distantly hear the sounds of a scuffle starting to break loose.

"Harley, tie our little birdie back up before he flies away again. And do it RIGHT this time!"

"Okie-dokie, Puddin'!"

"What have you DONE?" Batman asked, his growl more threatening and menacing than ever without raising the slightest bit in volume.

"Nothing just yet, Batty. But we're so looking forward to your company. Of course, you wouldn't answer any of my calls." The Joker gave a loud, melodramatic sniff. "So we had to find some other way to get your attention. You understand."

"You let him go right now."

"Tut tut, you sound like you're accusing me of something!"

"I am."

Batman could dimly hear the scratching of a pen on paper. "Well now, that just won't do. We'll just need to push your appointment up, now won't we? How's tonight for you?"

"What are you babbling about?" Finally getting aggravated, Batman raised his voice.

"Well it'll just have to do. Come on around by our office. 43 Birch Street, you can't miss the place. It's just to die for." The Joker began to laugh wildly, and the connection cut off.

Batman took the smallest instant to clear his mind before setting off quickly for Joker's location.

0-0-0-0

Finally, Batman approached the old building. It was condemned, dusty, probably rotting, as he could have guessed. A crooked sign on the door read "Sam's Seasonal Sniggers: CURRENTLY Ha-Ha-Halloween."

An abandoned comedy club. He should have known.

Batman looked up to the top of the building. It looked like it could have been someone's home, from the attic on the top. But he didn't focus on that. There was a flagpole sticking out from the side of the building, below a window, with a black and yellow cape hanging down, blowing softly in a breeze. This was the place, alright.

With caution, Batman pushed open the creaking door and went inside.


	2. Doctor's Visit

The old wooden stairs creaked as Batman's heavy frame ascended. Putting aside his worries, Batman went through various scenarios in his mind. The lighting was bad in this part of town, and he couldn't see anything of what lay ahead in the attic. And by the condition of the abandoned building, fighting of any kind on the top floor would be a bad idea. He kept climbing. One rotted stair fell through as Batman put his weight on it.

Strategic thoughts continued to occupy his mind. He took note of everything that could be important; the attic was the fourth story of the building, there was a hallway with three doors leading off of it just off the second landing, an already-broken window stood ready for a quick escape from the third floor. He kept his worries at bay. He would not, under any circumstances, let anyone see how frightened he was. Even he didn't really know.

Finally, Batman reached the final landing. Space was more cramped than it had been, but there was still room to move around. Turning the old, rusty doorknob, Batman braced himself for whatever might lay behind the door.

But the door wouldn't open. He tried the knob again. Locked, not stuck. Batman stepped back, looking around for an alternate way into the room. But before he could get anywhere, the door opened.

"Ah, Mr. Batman! You're just in time." The Joker stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard and decked out in a lab coat and stethoscope. "Come in, come in. We were starting to wonder if you'd show. We were about to give your time to someone else!"

With nothing more than a glare, Batman snatched the clipboard from the Joker's hands. The top of the paper said, "Man, Bat," and below it were several disjointed notes and scribbles. He just had time to make out one that depicted him sitting in an electric chair, with x's for eyes, before the Joker grabbed the board back.

"Uh-uh, the patient isn't allowed to see his notes before the exam!"

"Where is Robin?"

"Impatient, aren't we?" Joker smiled, and the smile would have sent shivers down the spine of anyone else. "Dr. Harley, add that to the list, won't you?"

"Please, Doctor J," came another familiar voice from inside the attic, "It's Dr. Quinn. We're on the job, ya know."

Batman had had enough. He shoved Joker to the side and walked into the attic, looking around quickly to take in as much of the new environment as he could.

Robin sat on the floor in a corner, tied up and gagged. Batman quickly went over to him as Joker and Harley stood laughing at their own little jokes.

"Doctor, he's here! We've got Bats in the belfry! HAHAHAHA, in more ways than one!" Joker yelled, and Harley fell on top of him to steady herself.

Batman pulled off Robin's gag in one movement, wasting no time with his back to the Joker.

"I'm okay, and I'll be untied in just a minute," Robin said immediately. Batman was close enough now to see Robin's fingers working quickly to loosen his bonds.

"Good. What is he doing?"

"I don't know. But it's nothing good."

"You've been here?"  
"Less than an hour." Both Batman and Robin knew that there was little time to waste on unnecessary words.

Batman reached behind him suddenly and grabbed an arm; Harley had been attempting to sneak up behind him. In one fluid motion, he pushed her away and turned around.

"I've never seen such a vi-o-lent patient, Dr. J!" Harley called as she flipped around the room. "I'm gonna need some help takin' away all those dangerous toys!"

"Of course, Dr. Harley. We wouldn't want our patient to get hurt!" the Joker laughed again, and clapped his hands. He then stepped aside, and Harley stepped forward, armed now with a long, thin, large gun. She shot it several times, and Batman covered himself with his cape to fend off the bullets.

Except there were no bullets. A dart pierced right through the cloth of the cape, and through Batman's Kevlar-reinforced suit as well. More followed. Batman barely had time to register the small green flights, and the grinning face painted onto each dart, before he began to lose consciousness. The last thing he heard was that horribly familiar laughter.

0-0-0-0-0

Batman awoke strapped tightly to a leather couch (price tag still on), and missing his utility belt. Turning his head, he could just barely see it hanging alongside Robin's cape on the flagpole out the window.

"Ah, you're awake!" Batman could only look up at the white, grinning face above him. "Whadda ya think, too much, or not enough?" he asked, holding up one of the darts. "I had them specially made, you know. Just for you, Batty."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be! You've no idea of all the trouble I went through to set this all up. It took five minions to lift that couch!"

"I'm sure you're just dying to tell me what all that trouble was for."

"But of course! You see Batsy, you and I know each other well." The Joker straightened up from bending over Batman, and started to pace alongside the couch. "I can't even begin to count the number of times you've given me over to the good doctors over at Arkham. No wait," he stopped pacing, and counted on his fingers for a moment, "It was twelve hundred and ninety-four. The least I could do is return the favor once."

"Will you get to the point?"

"That IS my point. We're having an intervention, Batman! And you're going to get all the help you need." The Joker chuckled as he stepped back into Batman's line of sight.

"You're insane, Joker."

"I'M insane?" the Joker asked, grinning widely. "Well, we'll leave that up for the dear Doctor to decide." He stepped aside, and Harley came forward, wearing thin glasses over her mask, and a lab coat that dragged on the ground behind her.

"Evenin' Mr. Batman," She said, making a small note on the clipboard she held in one hand. "Let's get right to work, M'kay? We've got a looong way to go..."


	3. Doctor's Testing

Batman actually took a moment to stare, trying to make some sense of the scene around him. He was strapped to a rather comfortable leather couch, in the attic of an old, rotting building, without his utility belt, and with Harley Quinn making herself comfortable in a chair facing him. The simple absurdity of the whole thing took a moment to set in.

"So let's get started." Harley adjusted her glasses, and shifted a couple of papers on the clipboard. "I'm gonna start with a few questions, okay?"

"No."

"Too bad! Question one. Would you say you're sane, or insane?"

Batman stared at her coldly.

"Come on, Batty, answer the question," came the voice of the Joker, from where he stood against the wall behind Harley. He pulled a joy buzzer out of his pocket, and tossed it into the air a few times. "If you don't, we might just have to try shock therapy!"

"So Question one," Harley repeated, "Would you say you're sane, or insane?"

"Sane," Batman growled.

Harley tsked, and made a note on her clipboard. "They aaalways say that. Question two, do you prefer scrambled eggs, or unscrambled?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Harley folded her arms. "Doctor J? The patient is being very non-cooperative."

Joker stepped forward with his buzzer, grinning wildly. "I've wanted to do this for years!" He sprang forward, and pressed the buzzer right under Batman's jaw. Batman clenched his teeth, but didn't scream.

"I'm gonna ask you again," said Harley, "Scrambled or not?"

The look on Batman's face suggested that he wanted nothing better than to whack her with the clipboard.

"Huh, still no answer. Whadda we do now, Dr. J?"

"Hmm, is that lovely little medicine that you gave our birdie still around?"

"Sure is!" she hopped up, and retrieved an injection needle from the pocket of her lab coat.

In the corner, Robin's eyes widened. He worked even more quickly on his bonds, until they finally dropped to the floor. He didn't get up though—not just yet.

Harley tested the needle, and walked over toward Robin. Batman could only watch; the straps holding him to the couch were tight, and too thick to cut quickly.

Just as Harley was within striking distance, Robin sprang to his feet, pushing off the wall and aiming a kick at Harley's head. She leapt out of the way just in time, bouncing around the room. "Uh-oh! Bad birdie!" Robin kept a good stance, but the first dose of the drug was still in his system. He was groggy, slower than usual. Harley finally succeeded in catching a punch, and jabbing the needle into Robin's arm.

Batman's fists were still clenched. He ground his teeth as he watched Robin sway, still trying to stay on his guard. But Robin was still only human. Within a few minutes, he had collapsed.

The Joker walked over to Harley, who was replacing the needle in her pocket. She held out her arms, expecting praise, but received a smack instead.

"I told you to tie his ropes TIGHTLY! That's the second time!"

"Ah! I'm sorry, Mr. J!"

The Joker raised his hand to hit her again, but looked back over at Batman and lowered it. "Oh, what this must look like. It must be bad for the patient to see the doctors fight!" Adopting a sappy smile, he extended his hand again, this time to help Harley up. She took it, instantly forgetting the smack. "Well, Doctor Harley? Are you going to get back to your patient now?"

"Right, Doctor J!" Harley hopped over to her chair and adjusted her glasses. "Now, moving on." Harley flipped through the papers on her clipboard, "I'm gonna show you some inkblots, and yer gonna tell me what you see, m'kay?"

Batman remained silent. Harley took it for a yes.

"Whadda ya see here?" She asked, holding up a paper.

Still he said nothing.

The Joker was not pleased. "If you won't play along..." he said, giggling as he lifted the unconscious Robin up from the ground and drew a finger across his neck.

Clenching his fists, Batman studied the paper. "A bird," he decided.

Harley made a buzzer-like noise. "Wrong! It's a fighter plane!"

"You at least attempted to study psychology, Quinn. You know a Rorschach test is subjective. It can't be wrong."

"Who's the doctor here, huh?" Harley asked, pointing at him with her pen. "Try another. Here, what's this one?" She held up another paper.

"A skyscraper," he answered, after a long, tense moment.

"Wrong again! This ain't lookin' good for you, Mr. Batman. Why dontcha try another?" Harley pulled a third sheet off her clipboard.

"That's you and the Joker on your honeymoon," Batman said, suppressing a smirk at the Joker's expense.

"What? No it—Oh, I guess it is." Harley looked nervously at the Joker, who had folded his arms and begun to tap his foot. "Ahehe, wonder how that got in there." She hastily folded up her doodle, and put it in a pocket. "I think that's enough inkblots for today." She reached into another pocket, and grabbed a list. "Now let's try some word association. I'm gonna say a word, and you tell me whatever you think of, m'kay?"

Silence. A glare.

"Okie-dokie! Ahem. Cat."

"Dog," Batman growled. A part of him still did not believe that he had been put into such a ridiculous situation. A much smarter part of him was surreptitiously using a batarang to begin cutting through the thick bonds.

"mHMMMM," Harley said, making a note and a tsking noise. "Fruit."

"Bat."

Harley laughed. "Ooh, that was a good one. Wrong, but good. Okay, potato."

"Food."

"You just got no imageenashun, do ya?" Batman didn't even bother to answer. The sharp wing of his Batarang was already halfway through the first strip. "Humph. Well, let's try another. Slinky."

"What? I—"

"Tut Tut, Batsy, you ain't doing well here!" Harley said, making another note on her clipboard. "Flake."

"I don't know, fake," Batman said, trying to keep up the illusion that he wasn't distracted.

"One more. Magnamanous."

Batman wasn't interested enough to look up. "That's not even a real word."

"A'course it is! My Puddin' uses it all the time," Harley protested, folding her arms."

"Then what does it _mean?_" He asked, with the slightest of smirks.

"Just answer the question! Magnamanous!"

"I don't have time for this." The first strap snapped open, the batarang jolting forward without the resistance and hitting Batman's arm. He let on no sign, and ignored the cut as he started to work on the other strap.

"Wrong answer, Batman," came the voice of the Joker from behind Harley's chair. The zany laughter that usually came with it was gone, replaced with a calm insanity. He was still holding Robin up with one hand. He reached the other out to grab one of several guns laid out in a decorative manner on the ground. Holding it up, he started to press the barrel against Robin's head.

Batman stopped his work for a split second. His fists had clenched too tightly in fear to continue cutting the bonds. But the moment passed.

Suddenly, The Joker lowered the gun, and the unconscious boy. He looked at the ceiling, contemplating something, before breaking out in a wide grin. "Dr. Harley, what do you think of our patient?"

Harley scribbled again on her paper. "He's out of it, Doctor J!"

"Then I think it's high time we began our treatment, isn't it?"

"You betcha, Puddin'!"

The Joker's smile widened even more, stretching straight from one ear to the other. "Now it's going to get fun…"


	4. Doctor's Treatment

A streetlamp outside the old building flickered, setting an odd and eerie light on the tense scene. Satisfied that Robin was safe, for the moment, Batman focused more of his energy than ever into breaking his bonds.

Harley stood from her seat, handing the clipboard to the Joker as he took her place. She quietly made her way to the shelf in the back, crossing her legs and leaning forward in anticipation.

"Now then. Let the healing begin!" Joker reached into the pocket of his own lab coat and drew out a yo-yo. He began to spin it, and the spiral pattern went round and round. "Just relax, Batty. This won't hurt. Too much. Watch the circle."

Batman obliged with an eyebrow raised under his cowl. Several minutes of this went by before he finally spoke. "Did you honestly think that this was going to work?"

"Eh, it was worth a try." The Joker threw the yo-yo away with a careless shrug. Something in another part of the room broke with a crash. "But don't think I haven't prepared myself for that."

"I didn't. I've known you too long."

"Good boy." The Joker smiled. Again, he let his long fingers dip into his pocket, and this time pulled out a syringe. It was empty, but not for long. With an exaggerated show of caution, The Joker turned his back on Batman for long enough to dip the needle into a container of some liquid on Harley's shelf. His eyes gleamed as he lunged across the room, jabbing the point into Batman's neck.

His training had long ago taught Batman exactly what would happen if he were drugged. He felt the taint of the chemicals flowing through him, disabling whatever they touched. His tightly-clenched fist was one of the last areas to be infected. He couldn't stop himself from releasing his hold, and dropping the Batarang.

"Oh-ho? What's this?" The Joker asked, stepping forward and picking the weapon up. "Tut tut, You shouldn't be playing with such dangerous toys! Harley!"

Harley jumped up from her place on the shelf and took the Batarang from Joker's hand. "I coulda sworn I got all his stuff, Dr. J!"

"He's a tricky one, this patient," Joker said. "We'll need to be extra-careful!"

"But not too careful, Dr. J," Harley added, climbing back onto her seat. "This patient needs a lotta help, and we gotta give it to him!"

"Right you are, Dr. Harley. So why don't we start?"

"Okie-dokie, Puddin!"

"Good, good." Batman watched drowsily as The Joker folded his arms behind his back, rummaging around for a few moments before allowing them to re-emerge. His right arm could no longer be seen—it was hidden under a sock puppet.

Batman blinked several times, unsure whether this was reality or a delusion brought on by the drugs.

"Now Mr. Batman, say hello to Socko!" Batman merely shook his head, and blinked again. "No? You'll hurt his feelings." The Joker drew the puppet back to his body, hugging it. "Oh fine then, Socko forgives you. 'That's right Mr. Batman, I forgive you!'" Joker had extended the puppet again, raising the pitch of his voice to provide Socko with words. "'Now Mr. Batman, tell me what's wrong? What made you such a nasty little bat?"'

Batman knew that he had to be under the influence, but his cautions were down, and he replied sarcastically. "Well Socko, if I had to guess, I'd say it was fighting delusional, dangerous psychopaths day in and day out. It does strange things to a person."

"Now, now. No need for that kind of a tone, young man," Joker admonished, wagging his finger. "Socko hasn't done anything to you!"

"Maybe _he_ hasn't."

"Well fine! If you're going to be like that, then Socko won't help you!" The Joker folded his arms like a spoiled child.

"Is he cured yet?" Harley asked, from her new position of reclining on the shelf, with one leg stretched into the air.

"Not yet." Joker peeled the sock off of his arm and tossed it aside. "Let's try something else." He began to pace around the small space.

"You and me, Batty? We're not that different, really. Oh, I know what you're thinking. 'He's insane! Surely I'm not!' Well Batty, you're sadly mistaken.

"It's not as if I'm doing this to _hurt_ you. Of course not. The first step is recognizing that you have a problem, after all. Until you learn to accept your madness, you'll be fighting against it. Why, look at me! Not a day goes by that I don't revel in lunacy! And I've never been happier!

"But you, _you_, my dear Batty, you wallow in sanity, trying to prove that you're better than the rest of us madmen. And I must say, You're making quite a few enemies out there. You just couldn't leave well enough alone, let us have our fun! People want good, old-fashioned revenge."

"People like you?" asked Batman.

"Why yes, as a matter of fact. But I'm hardly the only one. Plenty of us want to get you back for butting your beak into their business!

"But of course," Joker continued, "we need to identify your problem before we can cure it. Now, I think I know you quite well enough by now, eh chum?" He laid an elbow on Batman's head, and continued to go on. "You've got to be more trusting, open up a little! Why, I bet little bird-boy over there doesn't even know who you are!"

"That's a lie," Batman growled.

"Well now well now WELL now! So why does he get special treatment, hm?"

"He isn't a psychopathic murderer."

"Well neither was Socko! Are you going to tell HIM your name?"

"No."

"Then don't interrupt." The Joker removed his elbow, and resumed pacing. "I don't get to do this just any day." He put a hand to his chin and frowned slightly. "Harley, Would you hand me the list?"

"Sure, Puddin'!" She bounded over, picking up the clipboard from the chair as she went.

Joker flipped through a few pages. "Ah, here we are. Paranoia, Schizoid disorder, a check for sheer madness—why else would you dress up as a flying rat every night?"

"Not ta mention reclusive behavior, and just bein' a shut-in," Harley chimed in. "He's got a lotta issues, Dr. J!"

"And he doesn't appear to be paying attention to my hard-written monologue," Joker said as he leaned back over Batman. "And I typed it up and everything! Very well Dr. Harley, the patient seems to be beyond conventional treatment. Better break out the big guns!" He began to laugh as Harley skipped across the room, drawing attention to a large something hidden in the shadows.

"Yer in for a real treat, my batty old friend!" Joker giggled.

"Dun du-nuh dun dun dun duuuuh! Pree-senting..." Harley flipped a large cloth off of the contraption, revealing a seat in the shape of a bat, uncomfortable-looking straps and entirely too many wires. "...shock therapy!"

Harley struggled to push the machine into the middle of the room by herself; Joker was barely even paying attention to her efforts. A few ominous sparks came out of the tall antennae sticking out of the bat-seat's ears.

"What do you think? I made it special just for you."

"I have to say, Joker, the setup was too much even for you." Batman darted his eyes around the room. The drug was still in his system, but it had been slowly wearing off. It never did do to underestimate a man who had spent years honing every aspect of his body—including at least partial immunity to most known poisons. His wits with him again, Batman decided that enough was enough.

"Now, don't be so negative!" The Joker turned around to admire his creation. "This little beauty will have that fixed in no time!"

"I don't think so." Finally, Batman was able to grab the last strap holding him to the couch, and he ripped at it with all the strength he could find. The leather had been worn away enough by his Batarang to come apart, and he instantly leapt up into a fighting stance.

"Your license is being revoked, _doctor_."

"Oh-ho, it's a fight he wants!" Joker turned back around with a smile and rolled up his sleeves. "Well then, it's a good old fight he'll get!"

"Don't go starting without me!" Called a young voice. Batman didn't have to turn around; Robin's presence at his side was enough to tell him that his ward was in as good health as ever.

"HARLEEEY!"

"Mr. J, I swear I tied 'em, I promise, please Mr. J!"

Before Joker could go to personally reprimand her, Batman grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up into the air.

"Let's do this," Robin said confidently.

Batman nodded.


	5. Doctor's Payment

Once Batman and Robin were together again as a team, no more time was wasted. They covered each other's backs and sprung for the closest villain. Robin launched a side-kick at The Joker's head, while Batman grabbed Harley's arm to stop her from bounding away.

"Ye-ikes!" Harley yelled, attempting to flip away from Batman. He twisted his arm just slightly, re-directing her right into his fist. "Now, now, Mr. Batman," she said nervously, while he held her up off the ground by the tassels of her hat, "you're gonna sabotage yer treatment!"

"Just stop. Now." Batman pulled Harley closer to his face.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed quickly.

Meanwhile, the Joker was proving too much for Robin. The boy ducked and dodged, but everywhere he went, the Joker's hideous grin was following him.

"Don't fly away, little Robin," it said, "We spent so much trouble trying to tame you!"

Batman turned around at the sound, still holding a struggling Harley off the ground. She wasn't posing too much of a problem for him, but Robin would be in real trouble in a few minutes. "R. Castling," he called out.

"Good call, B." Robin ducked under the Joker and ran to Batman. Batman, in turn, tossed Harley into the air and took Robin's place in front of the Joker. Batman immediately landed a punch on Joker's grinning mouth, and Robin caught Harley the way a dancer would catch his partner.

"Nice of you to drop in," he said, and dropped her.

Harley steamed as she got up. "I've had just about enough of you! Yer getting me in trouble with my Puddin!" She lashed out, but Robin ducked out of the way.

"In case you were wondering," Robin called out to Batman across the room, "I woke up around the time Joker was shoving that sock puppet in your face."

"Then why didn't you get up while he was focused on me?" Batman shot back, dodging a lone dart that Joker had had up his sleeve.

Robin caught Harley's punch, and flipped her around so that she crashed into the wall. "I was waiting for the opportune moment."

"He was so absorbed in his monologue, you could have taken him out right then."

"Geez, it was a movie joke. You have got to get out more."

"Focus, Robin!"

"I got it, I got it," the boy replied, kicking his leg out to the side to trip Harley as she tried to sneak up behind him.

Batman was able to pin the Joker to the wall, his thick fingers putting just enough pressure on the clown's neck to keep him there.

"I was just trying to help, Batsy! No need to get—" Batman tightened his grip.

"I am sick of doing this to you," Batman growled. "If I EVER catch you in my city again before your time is up..."  
"Oh come on Bats, do we really have to make this twelve hundred and ninety-five?"

"Twelve hundred ninety-five and last." A final strike to the neck had the Joker in a relatively harmless heap on the floor.

"NOOO!" Harley cried, looking over from across the room, where Robin had finally pinned her to the ground.

"Session's over, Quinn," Robin quipped, giving her a good, old-fashioned punch in the side of the head. "Check's in the mail."

"Why you little...little bird...tweetey robin bird...gonna...gonna getcha...after my nap." Harley dropped off and went limp. Robin checked her vitals before getting up.

"Joker's out?"

"For now." Batman went over to the window and retrieved his utility belt. He tossed Robin's cape to him. "Call Gordon, and make sure they get to Arkham. I'll see you back at the Cave."

"Right, right. Leave the clean-up to me. That is, if you're sure you wanna leave me alone out here again."

Batman turned his face back to the window, keeping Robin from seeing the small smile on his lips. "Don't get drugged again and I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Robin said, taking a couple of bundles of rope out of his utility belt and beginning the process of restraining the Joker. "I'll see you at home."

0-0-0-0-0

Bruce Wayne took a monogrammed towel with him out of the bathroom, wiping away the water still dripping from his hair onto his face. He sighed into it, taking an odd comfort in the smell of laundry detergent.

The same sort of nagging feeling that he'd felt earlier that night was still in his gut. This time, though, it was easier for Bruce to identify what it was that bothered him.

As much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, the Joker almost had a valid point in what he had done. It was hardly the first time that someone had encouraged him to seek counseling. The strangest, yes, but not the first. The first had been Alfred, too many years ago. After that fateful night in Crime Alley. Throughout his adult life, the suggestion had come up. Those who were able to get close enough to him wanted to cure him; his lack of trust, his solitude.

Bruce still clenched his jaw thinking about it. He was under control; he had always been under control. Asking him to trust a complete stranger with his darkest secrets for no useful purpose...

He took a deep breath, centering himself. There was no point to being angry about it. The subject was ridiculous. Why else would the Joker have tackled it?

But then...Bruce threw the towel on his bedroom floor with more force than usual. He started to dress himself, still thinking. Hidden deep within the insanity was an uncomfortable kernel of truth. It _had_ been years since he had allowed anyone new to get close to him. Even those whom he already trusted were often shut out of his plans.

"No," he said aloud, "This is ridiculous. This is the Joker we're talking about."

"Did you say something, sir?" Bruce turned quickly to see Alfred in his doorway.

"You could have knocked, Alfred."

"Dreadfully sorry. I just thought you'd want to know that Master Timothy has returned, and is waiting for you down in your lair."

"Thank you." Bruce pulled his shirt on over his head and slipped on a pair of shoes. "But it isn't a lair."

"Of course it isn't." Alfred walked off down the hallway, with his hands folded behind his back in a dignified fashion.

Bruce's eyes wandered toward the ceiling, but he couldn't help smiling at his old friend as he went down to the Batcave.

By the time he had descended the many steps, Tim had already changed into civilian clothes, and was playing on the computer. He didn't even have to turn around to know that his mentor was there. "So how long d'you think they'll keep him this time?"

"Not long enough," Bruce answered. "No matter how long, it will never be long enough."

"Well, we got him, at any rate," Tim said, with the classic Robin trait of optimism. "He didn't even scratch anyone, this time. Maybe we'll be this lucky again, next time, and he'll just be going for you."

Bruce didn't respond. He stood quietly in the center of his cave; the place where all of his adult life had begun.

"Something wrong?" Tim asked after a silent minute.

"It's true he didn't kill anyone. But he might have won, this time."

"Won? What are you talking about?" Tim spun his chair around, wondering what answer could possibly make sense.

"I think I let him get to me," Bruce said, slowly. "I let him get into my head. He made me...wonder about a few things..." He shook his head. "But that will never happen again. He will not make me question myself again."

"Bruce, I—Hey, chill out!" Tim called across the cave, as Bruce turned around with the beginnings of a glare on his face. "I was gonna say, I didn't think he did. You know how Joker is—"

"Of course I do. But I'd be a fool if I refused to consider the possibility."

"You're not crazy, Bruce," Tim assured him. "You're just...well, even if you are a little nuts, look what you're doing with it. You could be out there making everyone else as miserable as you were, but you're not. You're keeping everyone safe from the real madness. Maybe you just have to be a little crazy to beat the real crazies."

Bruce almost smiled. "Fight madness with madness. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am crazy."

"Crazy like a fox!"

"And rest assured, Master Bruce, we all must be crazy to follow you," Alfred said, coming down the stairs with a tray of tea and pastries.

"Alfred, how long have you been listening?" Bruce asked, taking a cup of tea. Tim crossed the room quickly for one of Alfred's croissants.

"Long enough," Alfred answered aloofly. "But Master Timothy is right, sir. Lord knows you'd have to be insane to do what you do. None of us would wish it otherwise."

This time, Bruce really did smile. "Thank you. Both of you."

"Don't mention it," said Tim. "We're all a little nuts. Just one big, happy, crazy bat-family." Alfred chortled, and Bruce choked a little on the tea in his mouth. "What?" Tim asked, but he laughed too.

Bruce looked at the members of his family, and thought of the others that he knew, or had known. He should never have doubted that The Joker was wrong; he had never been shut-in or alone. There had always been others to keep his madness in check. That was the difference. And it made all the difference in the world.


End file.
